The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 446

Chapter 219 2

+25 Point.

Chapter 219-2

room is dim, lit only by the faint green and blue monitors tracing steady, rhythmic lines across

digital screens.

My heart aches as I step closer, my boots squeaking softly against the polished linoleum floor.

Cain Morgan looks impossibly smaller than he did in life. The towering, forceful Vice President of the Night Howlers – the man who used to handle Knox’s explosive, violent outbursts with an iron composure is swallowed up by white hospital blankets and crisp cotton sheets.

Bandages wrap tightly around his chest and neck, and dark purple, yellowing bruising stains his hollow cheeks and sunken eye sockets. His hands, usually hard, steady, and wrapped around the

handlebars of his beloved bike, are bound in thick white plaster casts, resting limp and useless at

his sides.

Locke steps up beside me, placing a hand on the small of my back, his massive presence a warm shield against the cold, mechanical reality of the room. He looks down at Cain with a hard, shadowed expression, his jaw set tight as he takes in the physical toll of Grit’s unhinged brutality.

I step up to the edge of the bed, resting my hands lightly on the cool metal safety rail, looking at the man who once gave me a scrap of hope when I had none.

I remember how he used to sit in the corner of the clubhouse during Knox’s rants, quietly taking notes, making sure the lower-patch guys got paid fairly, absorbing the impact of Knox’s madness

so the rest of the club didn’t have to.

Cain was the glue holding a broken engine together, and Grit smashed him for it.

“Hey, Cain,” I whisper. “It’s Zara.”

The ventilator lets out a low, rhythmic hiss-click, the artificial rise and fall of his chest the only

response.

“I don’t know if you can hear me in there,” I continue softly, leaning down closer so my voice stays

between us, shielded from the hum of the machines. “I don’t know if you’re floating somewhere far

away from all this noise, or if you’re trapped behind the glass listening to every word. But… I

needed to come here. I needed to say thank you.”

A silent tear rolls down my cheek.

“I never forgot that night on the back porch three years ago,” I tell him. “When Knox was making

sure I felt small, broken, and completely invisible, you were the only one who had the nerve to step

outside. You didn’t have to say a word to me, Cain. You could have stayed inside with the rest of

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Chapter 219 2

the club, drinking beer and laughing at his jokes.”

24 Point

I take a deep breath, gently stroke his forehead, one of the only unbruised places on his face.

“But you stood there in the dark, lit your cigarette, and told me I was strong. You gave me back a piece of my dignity when I didn’t think I had any left to hold onto.”

Locke’s hand gently squeezes my hip as he stands beside me, listening in solemn silence.

“What Grit did to you… it’s a sickness,” I say, my voice tightening with a mixture of heavy grief and cold anger. “He stole your gavel, he shattered your body, and he tried to erase everything steady you built for your men. He thought he could bury your legacy in an oil-stained garage.”

I shake my head, feel the anger rise in me, turn hot and poisonous.

“But he didn’t break the truth, Cain. I hold the deeds now. I own the very ground Grit’s standing on. And me and Locke and the Skulls, we’re going to tear down everything he and Knox built until there’s nothing left of their disease.”

I lean down slightly closer, looking at Cain’s quiet, peaceful face, free of the lines of tension that used to carve into his cheeks when Knox was shouting at the table.

“Rest easy, Cain. Don’t worry about the club or the streets anymore. Let us hold the line now. We’ve got it from here. I promise.”

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